


Slave

by Darknightjess (orphan_account), jeck



Category: Real Person Fiction
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-06-08
Updated: 2011-06-08
Packaged: 2017-10-20 06:11:38
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,116
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/209609
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/Darknightjess, https://archiveofourown.org/users/jeck/pseuds/jeck
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>[Archive] Originally posted 2/26/2008</p><p>Warnings: Somewhat rough sex, Roman slavery and beatings</p>
            </blockquote>





	Slave

**Author's Note:**

> A/N: We are **NOT** historians, we are slash writers. We did no more research than a bit of Wikipedia, watching a few movies and the mini-series Rome. So - if historical inaccuracies bug you, please feel free to hit the back button, but if you are here for the pretty pretty fellas having the schmex - read on.
> 
>  
> 
> Set around 60 BC

Marton shuffles forward, resigned to his fate and to being sold to a household. He looks up as the slave master points to him. "That one can be bathed and kept in the house. He'll make a decent server."

Gaspard peeks at the large, tall man and the corner of his lips quirk. Yes. He will do. A decent server. He discreetly nods at the slave master, the man acknowledging and yelling, 'Sold!'

Lifting his chin, Marton stares straight ahead, refusing to cower just because someone owns him.

 _Hmm. A defiant one_. Gaspard's brow lifts high on his forehead. This shall prove interesting. He lifts a hand and gestures, another one of his servants scurries to the new slave while Gaspard approaches another man, paying, finishing this transaction. He is hoping that they are correct. That this slave will clean up nicely.

The servant clips a lead onto the collar around Marton's neck and he huffs out a breath as the man tugs, leading him toward a carriage.

Gaspard remained stoic, face blank, eyes fixed before him. What everyone around him doesn’t know is that from his peripheral, he has been observing the tall man, eyeing him, already thinking of what he would do to break him into submission. To shove that defiance out of his system. Gaspard has plans for him. Oh, yes he does.

Walking along as the young master is carried in the covered litter, Marton cuts his eyes over, trying to get a look at him. When he slows and the servant tugs the rope attached to him, Marton jerks back, pulling the man off his feet.

The scuffle makes Gaspard poke his head out from under the draped covers and he takes in the scene before him. His one trusted servant sprawled on the ground, Marton looking fierce standing upright and his stance, brash. "Get up." He tells the other man and then he stares at his new slave with narrowed eyes as if daring the man to react, something, anything. _Stop staring back_ , because if he doesn't, Gaspard would be more than happy to punish him.

Jaw clenched, Marton looks away, slight smile on his face.

He sees that and Gaspard sits back, hidden behind the drapes again and he smirks as well. Yes. This would prove very interesting indeed.

The trip through the city is short and relatively unadventurous as Marton keeps his eyes open.

Once they are at the Master's home the servant leads Marton to the back of the kitchen entrance. "You will bathe and put on those clothes." He points and then you're feet will be chained and you will be shone your bed."

Gaspard is in his room, sitting on the balcony outside and enjoying the cool breeze. Noise is not filtered out from the rooms below and he could hear one of his servants telling the new one to bathe. Yes. This is why he sits here, overlooking the large bathing pool used by his servants. It is - he smiles - where some of his entertainment can be found. He sits forward and waits.

Moving into the courtyard, Marton removes the slave's robes, dropping them and walking to the pool. He looks at the servant as the man tells him to get in the pool and bath quickly.

Huffing, Marton climbs in and lays back, relaxing in warm water for the first time in months and months.

Ah. Yes. Even filthy he is a sight to see. What is his name again? Gaspard suddenly realizes he never bothered to find out, much like the others when they first arrive here. But this one? It is the first time he wondered and the first time he wanted to know. As soon as he saw him earlier, he could not take his eyes off the man. "Beautiful," he whispers, watching water slosh around the hard body and his cock begins to stir between his legs.

Submerging, Marton scrubs at his hair before coming up and snorting water, shaking his head as his hair falls in dark curls. He rubs at his skin, cleaning and removing the dirt, finally taking his cock into his hand and cleaning it with a smile as the servant yells at him to hurry. Standing, Marton lets the water run off of him and turns his face up to the sun with a smile.

As his new servant stands up, Gaspard does as well, letting this man see him watching, know he is watching. He leans against the low wall before him, and rakes his eyes on the man and his naked body before turning around and leaving the balcony.

Eyeing the man as he moves from the window, Marton finally lets the servant prod him to dress.

Gaspard sends for two servants, the new one among them, he pads around in his room until they enter. One he orders to prepare his bath. The new one, the tall man, he stands in the middle, Gaspard slowly walking around him, eyes, again, slowly roaming over his body before Gaspard looks at his face, meets beautiful eyes. "What is your name?"

"I am Marton, and what is yours?" Marton asks, one eyebrow raised.

"My name is Gaspard." He meets the defiant gaze, not looking away, not even blinking. "But here, you shall call me Master."

"I call no man Master."

"We'll see." Gaspard does not dismiss him. Not yet. Let him stay and learn his place. He faces the other servant and curtly, he says, "Beat him," before walking out of the bedroom.

Marton starts to flee when he is grabbed and dragged fighting and kicking down to the courtyard. Once they manage to tie him to the fence a large man welding a whip begins to stripe Marton's back, he refuses to cry out.

Gaspard steps out after a few lashes were given to Marton. He walks up to the man and looks down at him, eyes narrowed and dark. "You call me Master or this," he nods and another loud crack of the whip hits Marton's back, "will not stop."

"Does it make that thing between your legs hard to see a man beat?" Marton asks in a breathless hiss between clenched teeth as the flesh on his back becomes bloody.

"Yes." Gaspard answers with a smirk, nodding once and the lashes begin again. Two, then four, then another and harder before Gaspard raises a hand and it stops. "Who am I?" He asks Marton, lips curling in a sneer.

Marton pants, dragging breath into his lungs. He spits blood from where he has chewed the sides of his mouth. "You - are Gaspard."

Gaspard laughs. It is menacing. "Lock him up." He waves a hand and then leaves. If this one will be stubborn, then Gaspard needs to do something about that.

In the cell, Marton finds a small piece of charcoal and begins to draw a picture on the stone wall. It is of a naked man with a smirk on his lips and a scar on his cheek.

* * *

At least two days pass when Gaspard sends for Marton and the first time the man has seen daylight. He orders a servant to have Marton clean up and then to ascend to Gaspard's chamber where Gaspard and his companion for the night still lay on the expansive bed with soft rich linens.

Entering the room the servant bows. "Dominus, the slave is here."

Marton gazes at the men on the bed and his eyes spark with fire.

Gaspard sits up, extending long limber arms up in the air, pale skin stretching while the sheet bunches around his waist. He lays a hand over his bed-partner, sliding the pads of his fingers over the sleep warm skin. After that bit of indulgence, he looks up and meets Marton's eyes. "You shall draw me a bath and Posca here will show you how."

Marton snorts. "And will he show me if young Gaspard likes rose petals in his water or lilies?"

"Yes," Gaspard answers, unfazed. "But maybe it would be best to choose something that will be less of an annoyance to you since you shall bathe us, hmm?" With a wave of his hand in dismissal, Gaspard then turns his attention to his catamite, waking the younger man up, Gaspard grinning at him, and then poking his side with a chuckle. "I need my morning entertainment and then you can go."

The young man murmurs in ascent and slides under the covers.

Marton raises an eyebrow and then lets Posca lead him off.

The room is awash in pleasure noises coming from Gaspard, laying on the bed, feet planted on the now bunched up sheets, hips thrusting up. The young man is settled between his legs, mouth around his hard length, sucking-slurping wet sounds joining in with his moans. He hears rummaging in the room, most likely Posca and that obstinate Marton. He doesn't care though, only focusing on the pleasure given him. Of the pleasure he knows he richly deserves to feel. And not a moment too soon he is coming, shuddering and crying out in ecstasy. His breathing still labored, he smiles, a sated, happy smile that is so rare to see, as he threads his fingers through the softness of the hair on the head of his favored one.

Marton listens to the servant prattle on, but he only half listens. Mostly he's looking around, getting to know this Gaspard by his surroundings.

Gaspard stretches luxuriously on the bed, making small purring noises while he lets his eyes wander all around the room, although not readily admitting to himself that it was Marton that his gaze was really seeking. "Is it ready?" He asks the men, sitting up on the bed and sliding both his legs to drape along the side. "If it's not ready, I'll just," he looks over his shoulder at this companion, seeing the young man's cock jutting and hard between his legs, "entertain myself some more." One of those deep smirks graces his face.

Marton snorts. "Young Gaspard can come bathe." He glances at the man.

"You should be beat for this," Posca says with a hiss. "He is Dominus, the master."

Marton snorts again.

Gaspard glares at Marton very briefly with narrowed eyes he tugs at his pleasure-boy and heads to the bath. He nods at Posca who quickly gathers some things together and places them near the edge of the large bathing tub. He gracefully enters, hissing at the heat of the water before sinking slowly in, dunking his head under and then coming back up with a satisfied grin, hand held out for his catamite who has a large sponge in his hand.

Before the boy enters the water, he passes by Marton and quietly says, "You should be grateful he chose you to be here instead of working you out there in the fields and under the hot sun." He too sinks in the water, reaching out and sliding the sponge over Gaspard's skin.

"I'm not afraid of sun, or work," Marton says to the slave boy, but his eyes follow Gaspard. "It's honorable work." He sneers.

"It is honorable work that you can do once you learn your place," Gaspard counters, leaning forward against the edge of the tub, head over his forearms. "I am your master and you will learn to address me as such."

"Or you will have me beat?"

"And what you would rather I do to make you understand that I own you?" Gaspard meets Marton's eyes and stares while the boy reaches out for the small vial Posca placed on the side of the tub, oil poured on his palm and he slicks his still hard length, lifting Gaspard's hip and spreading his legs apart before he slickly slides his hardness between the soft swell of his cheeks. Only a small groan leaves Gaspard, eyes closing before he casts them back up at Marton and then his trusted servant, hips beginning to move as his catamite fucks into him. "I _own_ you. You are _mine_ ," he says unequivocally, and then Gaspard leans his head back on his crossed arms with a soft moan.

Marton's flesh lifts between his legs, standing stiff as he watches the young men. "And the best you can do with your property is have it bathe you?" He flicks his gaze to the man behind Gaspard. "Or take you so gently so that you still can talk and even think." He huffs.

Gaspard's brow rises but he does not look Marton's way, he has his lips parted and he's panting softly, head still pillowed over his hands. "You think you can do better than my favorite here?" He reaches a hand and pats the moving hip of the man behind him.

"Not if you prefer - boys, Gaspard," Marton says and yawns.

The boy glares at Marton, his hips still moving, thrusting in and out of Gaspard with a little bit more force.

Gaspard's eyes flit open and he looks Marton over, noticing the obvious reaction between his legs but Gaspard chooses to not react to it. "If you want to prove yourself a man, then first you need to learn respect. Especially toward me." He groans and pushes back at the cock inside him.

"I have a hand," Marton says. "I need to prove nothing."

He begins to moan and move more demandingly, eyes shut tight still leaning on his arms. "Beat him." He says to the room, knowing there is no need to specify to whom it is addressed to. He says it, and it is followed. "Then lock him up." Gaspard turns his head away.

Posca bows and grabs Marton's. The man gives slight resistance and then lets himself be lead out.

* * *

It's another three days before Gaspard orders Marton out of the dark and dank cage and he is shown to Gaspard's quarters as he sits behind a desk, elbows on it, hands steepled, hiding his mouth while he fixes his sharp gaze at him. Tonight, they are alone.

"Another beating and even less food for the next time if I ask you who I am to you and you do not answer me properly," he warns. "All the workers here, they are my slaves that I have dutifully paid for but they are never treated badly. You defy me, and that is the only time. They work, till the field, cook, fulfill my needs and all are compensated for it. They call me Dominus, Master, because they respect me and in turn, they earn my respect as people." He stands and looks up at the taller Marton as he walks around him then stands before him for long moments. "Now... Who am I?"

"A boy named Gaspard," Marton answers, lifting his chin.

Gaspard does not react. He expected as much. "Bathe. There are clean clothes for you. I am taking you back to the slave master. I have no use for defiant slaves." Gaspard turns sad eyes toward Marton. If only the man would understand, he would have a place here.

Marton chuckles and nods. "As you wish."

* * *

Although Gaspard took Marton back to the slave master and sold him again, he still found himself thinking of the intriguing man. He scowls as he dismounts his horse, entering the home of a friend he has come to visit. It is not the time to dwell on such meaningless thoughts. It is past, and it is for the better.

Masenus looks up as his dear friend Gaspard is shown into the room. "Hello," he says with a smile.

Gaspard grins wide, arms opening up to wrap his friend in an embrace, "Masenus," he greets, kissing both cheeks then pulling back to offer him his smile. "It is very good to see you."

"And you. I was delighted when I got your message that you were going to visit. Would you like some honey water?"

"Yes, please," Gaspard said gratefully. "The travel had been long and hot." Adding, "And worth it, my friend. It has been too long."

Masenus smiles and gestures for the water. A sound of crashing pottery comes from the kitchen and one of the servants bows. "Master, I apologize. The new slave - he has - dropped another pitcher."

"Have him taken out back and beat - again!"

Gaspard only looks to his friend in understanding, knowing only too well the value of having such a servant be beat and taught. It is a necessary evil, he thinks.

"I am going to send the insolent dog back to the markets," Masenus growls and then looks at Gaspard. "Though he is lovely to look at, and I've never seen a slave take a beating the way he does." He makes a happy noise and wriggles. "Do you want to watch it?" He asks, eyes flashing.

"If you would like to, then yes, let us watch," Gaspard answers with a nod.

The man leads his guest out to the yard where his slave, Marton is being tied to a cross bar.

The hairs on the back of his neck and his arms stand on end as soon as he sees Marton there. Gaspard slowly shakes his head as the beginning of his beating goes underway and he can't help wincing a bit as each strike leaves a bright red stripe along the man's broad back. "Will you sell him to me?" He turns and asks Masenus, Gaspard's expression completely serious.

Blinking, Masenus looks at his friend in disbelief. "Why ever would you want him?"

Gaspard shrugs, unable to explain it himself but seeing Marton like this, and seeing him again after such a long time, he is compelled to just--say something. "Teach him a lesson," he answers and he hopes it was enough to satisfy his friend.

"Good luck with that one. I've done everything I can think to him; still he breaks things by just - dropping them. He won't mind or listen." Masenus shrugs. "The only reason I haven't had him killed was he is not bad to look at."

"Then I shall take him off your hands. Make him mind. I don't know how but I will think of something." _Have him killed..._ that thought keeps echoing in Gaspard's mind. He was never one for going to that extreme. He knows he is not an easy master to serve, but he also knows he is neither unjust nor unkind. "Have them stop the beating. He needs to get cleaned up and fed. I have a long journey back in the morning. Now," Gaspard smiles, "We shall talk price, yes?"

"Yes," Masenus says, eyes sparking with interest. He gestures to his servant to have the slave taken and cleaned.

* * *

The next day finds Gaspard enclosed in a warm hug with his friend, Masenus. Goodbyes said he ventures outside, squinting at the bright rays of the sun as he looks over his entourage, horses drawn, all of them awaiting his order to leave. He walks around purposefully, only stopping once he finds himself in front of Marton. "I have saved your life," he starts, voice low, face fierce, eyes sharp. "You could have been ordered to be killed if you've stayed here any longer. You will come back with me. I have paid a very hefty price to take you back in. I expect you to show me at least a modicum amount of respect."

"What of the life you spared?" Marton says. "To be nothing more than property? I am a man, yet I have no respect." He looks at the young man. "Thank you for sparing my death here at this time."

Gaspard only stares at Marton's face for a long moment, studying those handsome features, the soul searing eyes. "You show me the respect I deserve, as a man, and I will give you yours, as a man. It is--equal--yes?" His voice is low, now wanting to be heard for what he just said is unprecedented, unheard of. He himself could face ridicule and disrespect in offering a slave equality.

Marton starts to scoff. Equal? What did this man know of equality? He looks deep into Gaspard's eyes and gives a slight nod. "As long as you deserve respect, I will gladly give it," he says, voice quiet. When he speaks again it is a normal tone, he steps back slightly. "Thank you Dominus, for everything."

The acknowledgement is indeed a surprise and it shows on Gaspard's face. He smiles slightly and nods in assent, murmuring, "You are welcome, Marton," before stepping away and saying loudly, "We shall take our leave now," as he mounts his horse and they set a course for his home.

They travel all day and as the evening begins they stop and the servants erect the tents and start preparing the meal. Posca goes to his master. "Dominus, may I speak?"

"Very well. What is it?" Gaspard nods once and turns attentively to Posca.

"The new - um - the slave, Marton," Posca says. "Should I have him tied tonight?"

Gaspard shakes his head as soon Posca even suggests it. "No." Gaspard is a man of his word. "Send him here. He will tend to me tonight. You," he smiles at his trusted servant, "can have the rest of the night to yourself."

"Dominus, can you trust this person?"

"I think, Posca, he needs to be shown trust to earn his respect. We shall see if I am right." Gaspard waves a hand as if dismissing the subject but adding, "If it would make you feel better, you can have someone stationed right outside to check now and again." He smiles.

"Thank you Dominus, I would feel much better." Posca hurries out.

A bit later, Marton is shown to the tent entrance.

Gaspard gestures to the space in front of him and he stands, looking up at the taller man. "You had food?" He asks first.

"Yes, thank you."

"You're rested as well?" Gaspard keeps his eyes on Marton's face, his eyes, not letting his gaze waver, let the man see he is serious about what he said earlier today.

Marton nods. "Yes. Posca tells me I am to - serve you," he gives a half smile.

Gaspard nods as well, "Yes you are. He has told you what to do, I trust?" He sits back down and waits, observes.

Marton huffs a bit, but nods. He goes to the table bearing food and makes a plate for Gaspard. Picking up ad goblet and a pitcher of wine he returns to the bed.

"Thank you," Gaspard takes the plate and proceeds to eat. A few bites and he notices Marton looking at him. "Would you like to sit?" He sweeps a hand on a floor laden with large soft pillows. "Please. By myself is lonely company."

Marton sits. "More wine?"

He lifts a hand up and shakes his head. "Tell me, Marton, where are you from?" He takes a bite of his food, eyes on Marton. "And I am only nothing but curious."

"Sardinia," Marton says and smiles. "My people were fishermen."

"Ah," he nods, "then maybe I should find you a place among my fishermen once you have proven to be a hard and trusting worker." Gaspard smiles, his face earnest, meaning it.

"I would like that," Marton says. "Why are you doing this?"

"Because I made a promise and I am a man of my word." Gaspard meets Marton's eyes. "I am sure you'd rather be treated this way than beat." It's a statement of fact, that is all.

"I don't know that I can serve - like a slave should," Marton says, trying to be honest.

Gaspard keeps a steady eye on Marton, thinking deeply and then he nods once as if he's made a decision. "If you serve me, just me, my person, what do you think you _can_ do? Not the home, not tend horses or till fields but more," he gestures with his hands, "like this, now. Would that be something you think you can do?"

"I can try," Marton says slowly, watching Gaspard. "I would - like to try."

"Very well," Gaspard nods again, "You start now." He doesn't say anything beyond that, calling for Posca, he informs him of what he wants to do with Marton and the servant scowls, which only makes Gaspard chuckle as both go off to serve him.

Posca, still grumbling, gives Marton different - softer and more comfortable clothes to wear. The older man pokes at Marton. "You are to be respectful of Master and do what he says or I'll have you beat myself!"

Holding back the growl at Posca, Marton lets himself be hurried back to Gaspard's tent.

Gaspard smiles as Marton enters and he tilts his head, then waves a hand at Posca, dismissing the man. "Have you been told what to do?"

Marton nods. "Yes." He turns and picks up the large bowl of scented water. Carrying it to a table near the bed he frowns a second. "Do you want to undress Dominus?"

Standing, Gaspard strides closer to Marton. Once before him, he smiles, turns around and spreads his arms out. "That, Marton, is why you are here."

Grumbling quietly, Marton begins to undress the slender man, folding the clothes neatly. He swallows, trying to not let the man's body affect him.

Gaspard rolls his shoulders back then stretches his neck and then he groans at the pop of bone and stretch of muscle. This is the part he likes most in his evening ritual. Being bathed and relaxing, letting the tension of the day leave. He closes his eyes and stands there, waiting with anticipation for the cool cloth to slide over his heated skin.  
`  
Once Dominus is naked, Marton dips the cloth in the water and wrings it out before taking his hand and staring at the fingers, begins to wash him. He notices the man stretching and grunts. "Do you want your back rubbed after this?"

His eyes fly open then but Gaspard only stares at the tent's canvas wall, surprised at Marton's offer. "I'd like that, Marton." He smiles then closes his eyes again, humming a bit at the way Marton's strong hands feel.

Huffing softly, Marton scrubs at Gaspard and then picks up a towel. "I’ll dry you and then you sit and I'll get your feet."

Gaspard sits and leans back, eyes on Marton, a half-smile on his face. "You have strong hands," he whispers.

"From pulling the nets," Marton replies and wets the cloth again to wash Gaspard's feet and legs.

"Mmm..." He sinks into the sensations, body relaxing, his head leaning on the back of the seat, eyes closing.

Drying the man's feet, Marton looks around for oil. Pouring some in his palms he rubs his hands together and then begins to massage Gaspard's feet and ankles. "Where is your - companion tonight?"

Gaspard hums again, liking the rough and callused hands strong and sure moving over his feet. It feels wonderful. "Hmm... I haven't called for him yet."

 _Yet..._ Marton uses his thumbs to rub hard into Gaspard's foot before starting on the calf. "I can leave and have him sent in..."

"No," Gaspard cannot think past the bonelessness he feels. He nudges Marton with his foot in the man's hand. "Don't stop."

Chuckling Marton continues to move up the strong leg to the thigh, lifting it and working the muscles.

"Mmm..." Gaspard smiles and then blinks his eyes open. "Can I lie down now? You did say my back." A smirk works its way past the smile.

"Yes, please," Marton says, pouring more oil in his palm.

Slowly he gets up, aware he's half-hard. How could he not when the feel of Marton's strong hands on him was too arousing? Gaspard settles on the makeshift bed by lying on his stomach, groaning as his cock gets pinned beneath him.

Jaw tight, Marton fights back the urge to shove Gaspard's legs apart and take him. He takes a deep breath and begins to massage the young man's shoulders.

Ah. This? This is even more relaxing. Gaspard wiggles on the sheets, making happy little noises. "You have talented hands, Marton," Gaspard looks over his shoulder at Marton and he smiles. "I think I'll have to ask you to do this for me every night."

Growling softly, Marton works harder, sliding his hands across the smooth warm skin. He digs his fingers in, scratching lightly as his cock stands hard from his body.

The harder the massage, the more purring noises Gaspard makes. He arches his back and that makes his stomach press on the bed and his ass lift up. He does this, unintentionally, several times, until he couldn't stop it; he rubs his erection against the sheet. "Oh!" He contemplates having his favored one sent it, get rid of this ache his body has for release. "Need..." He couldn't continue, so deep is he in the pleasure he feels from Marton's very expert hands. "Need..."

"Need someone to show you what a real man is," Marton growls. "You dally around with pale boys and think that's a man back there." He makes a spitting gesture and then grabs Gaspard's hips and lifts him effortlessly onto his knees. Unceremoniously he pushes on oil slick finger into the young man and reaches under him to wrap a large callused hand around his cock.

Marton's movement is unexpected--unsolicited, if he really deeply thinks about it but what Marton is doing to him is not allowing him to think. He is lost suddenly in the sensations; his treacherous mouth that should reprimand his servant from taking liberties upon his body like this is encouraging the disparaging act even more. Gaspard is moaning and it is made worse when his body reacts as well, pushing back against the pain of Marton's finger inside him and then thrusting into the rough warm palm enclosed around his length. "Uuh!"

"Yeah, you need alright," Marton growls, rubbing and twisting his finger. He tugs at Gaspard's hardness, thumb pushing up and along the ridge as he works him.

Gaspard wills his body to not move, bites his bottom lip to stop from moaning, but Marton's expert hands push these from him. He tries to put up a valiant fight worthy of his status but he is failing, _failing_ , hips jerking back and whimpering as blood is drawn from his lip by his own clenched teeth.

Pulling his finger almost out, Marton pushes two deep, rubbing at the place inside that will make Gaspard fall apart. He squeezes and twists with practiced movements, stroking the man's cock. "Come on, show me how a man spills his seed. Show me!"

Marton's voice triggers something in Gaspard's mind and he jerks back and sinks those fingers in deeper, groaning but then he fights the urge, fights Marton, arms and legs flailing as he pushes against and away from him. "Stop," comes his grated voice, breath harsh and he tries to move away, rolling to his side to make the man stop pulling at his length.

"No," Marton growls. "You want this. Want to be taken, made to feel, not bowed to and have your arse kissed because they have to. You want someone to take you because they want to."

"Stop," Gaspard says it again, albeit weakly and his body, he is mortified! It still moves and responds to Marton's roughness, to the man's touch. He groans, finding himself pinned down, harsh breaths, hot and moist on the blanket while his hips still rock into Marton's grip because, yes, the man is right, he does want this but Gaspard will never, ever admit that. "Uhh!"

The two fingers scrub and twist, scissoring. Marton tugs harder, faster. "Come for me and I'll stop," he grits out.

"NO!" Gaspard clutches the material with both his hands balled in very tight fists that his knuckles are paler than his already pale skin. He jerks back, groaning, muffled by the sheets and he refuses to, even though his body is right there and close to coming.

Laughing hands moving on and in the writhing body, Marton leans over and bites and licks at the soft warm curve of ass.

Gaspard throws his head back and he cries out, almost coming, so close that his cock spurts fluid as soon as Marton bites him on the ass. "Bastard!" He growls, the fight slowly leaving him but still Gaspard thrashes so that the larger Marton will not be able to have his way.

Pushing a third finger into Gaspard, rubbing hard across the point inside of him as he jerks him, Marton bites again, sucking at the reddened flesh.

Gaspard's body completely betrays him now. Even as he tried to squirm, it is not clear if he's moving away or toward those hands, Marton's mouth, his touch and then a deep and hard press of those fingers inside him-- Gaspard finds himself coming with a muffled cry as he buries his sweaty face on the sheets, trembling violently as his cock in Marton's hand keeps pulsing and spilling, warm and wet and satisfying.

"Yes," Marton says against Gaspard's skin, easing his hand around the man's cock and carefully pulling his fingers from his body. "Shhhh, lay down. Relax."

Gaspard lays there, breathing harsh, chest heaving, sweaty and boneless and spent--defeated. "Bastard," he murmurs weakly, no venom in his voice.

Marton huffs and raises his hand to lick the man's seed from it. "Your bastard, bought and paid for." He looks at Gaspard. "Will you have me killed now?"

"I should," Gaspard is still sprawled face down and he looks at Marton over his shoulder, still panting. "Should I?"

"Not if you want the rest of what I can give you."

"And what is this that you can give me?"

Leaning over, Marton covers Gaspard's body, pressing against the soft round of his ass with Marton's thick hard cock. "Outside of your rooms I'll call you Dominus, bow and scrape, treat you like you are the one who owns the world - but inside, in your bed - it's you that'll beg."

Gaspard's breath hitched at Marton's words, feeling the man's warm moist breath right by his ear. He feels his cock twitch and then he was whimpering, biting his bottom lip to stop more from escaping. "You are so sure I won't have you beheaded for this," he growls low, and then bucks his hips trying to unseat the larger man from where he presses down on Gaspard. "Because I could," he looks over his shoulder again, eyes flashing although there is a definite darkening in them, desire and need coming to the fore and Gaspard is not entirely aware it's there.

"It matters not to me," Marton says, biting at the pale column of throat. "But if I am dead - who will make you scream?"

He trembles, quite visible and violently, a soft moan escaping at Marton's bite. "And," he pants, "why would I scream?" There is no more fight left in him to try and push Marton away. Too sated and spent is he to do such a thing, is what he thinks, even though he knows that Marton is feeding his many desires and fantasies that he never can get fulfilled from the many boys he has had in his bed. Gaspard's body has long betrayed him, so instead he uses his words in defiance. "I scream and it is off with your head."

Biting again, chuckling, Marton slides his hand down to tuck a finger into the man.

Gaspard bucks again, a lot weaker, groaning at the breach but his hips move _toward_ the invading finger. "Bastard!" He rumbles low.

"Call for Posca, tell him to have your guards arrest me," Marton says in a taunting voice as he pulls his finger out and lifts Gaspard's hips, moving to kneel behind him. "Do it now because I am going to take you if you don't."

He is panting so hard, unable to speak because he is fighting with himself, knowing he wants this and badly but pride prevents him from asking, begging. "Bastard!" Gaspard says louder, followed quickly with, "Do it!" He pushes his arse up. "DO IT!"

Laughing, Marton grips his cock, sliding his oily hand over the head before pushing against the man's pucker. He grunts, thrusting inward before gripping the slender hips and beginning to rock his hips.

Gaspard groans, winces, pain the first thing, the only thing he feels before the sensation of fullness and his body's acceptance even happens, no matter if he was thoroughly prepared. It still hurts and his hands fist the blanket beneath him, knuckles pale as he trembles, lungs burning, panting harshly.

Rubbing a large hand over the trembling flesh of Gaspard's back, Marton makes soothing noises and pulls out slightly before pushing in again. "Breath, feel this, feel."

Each inward thrust pitches his body forward and each time Gaspard expels a breath, he grunts and groans. Yes. Yes, he feels it. Marton rocking into him hard, and quick, and deep.

Sliding his hand up, Marton twists his fingers into the dark soft hair and continues to thrust. He holds Gaspard's hip, fingers digging in.

All he can do is breathe and take it. Gaspard bites his bottom lip hard, can feel blood seeping out of a cut but still he stops himself from making any other sounds. Tries to because he is failing. Marton feels too good inside him, so very different from all the other boys. Yes. _Boys_. And Marton is right. Gaspard does want to be taken. And right now, Marton is doing just that.

Marton's hands go under Gaspard, flatten against his chest. He lifts the young man, pulls him up, cock still buried deep inside as he pulls the young man to his knees. "Now, tell me," Marton says in a low voice against the curve of Gaspard's ear. "Tell me if you want me to continue or do you want to have me killed."

He is kneeling now, leaning heavily against Marton's chest, and feeling his warm breath right against his ear, goose bumps rising along the nape of his neck while he feels the long and deep drag of Marton's cock inside him. "Bastard!" He growls again, and it's the only thing that he could say and it's just a word. Just a word because Gaspard is completely boneless against the larger man, is yielding to him and he knows, _knows_ that Marton has him completely under his power. There is no more fight here. Only submission that slowly, very slowly, Gaspard is giving Marton. "Bastard," he sobs out, voice so low, so quiet, it's barely heard.

"Yes," Marton agrees, rubbing his hands over Gaspard's chest. He begins to rock, thrusting.

Gaspard's cock hardens--his body's ultimate betrayal--and he sobs out a breath with each thrust, tears welling in his eyes. He has lost, and there is no other choice than to give in, not when he cannot control his body, his voice, because it is all responding to the knowing way Marton uses him.

Pushing Gaspard down again, large hand holding him, Marton begins to slam into the man. He reaches underneath and finds his cock. "Yes, you know Marton is what you need."

All the sensations culminate into this one deep and inexplicable desire that he feels warming his entire being. Gaspard gives in to it, to Marton, and he is moaning now, moving with him, and then, knowingly, he nods his head. "Yes," he whispers so softly, so quietly. "I need--" His eyes close and he stutters a breath, "you." Gaspard is defeated.

"Yes," Marton says and thrusts harder, hand moving over the erect flesh, milking it. "Can you come for me again?" He pants, his own release getting closer.

The voice is gentler and Gaspard cannot help but react to it. He nods his head slowly, tears in his eyes still, streaming slowly down his cheeks as he clutches on to the blanket beneath him again, so hard that he could feel his fingernails marking crescents on his palms. The tension happens first, followed by his trembling, and then one hard and deep thrust into that pleasurable spot deep inside and Gaspard comes with a silent scream. He buries his face on the sheet, pulling hard at the material fisted in his hands with his lips parted, sweat beading over his body, sliding down his temple, mixing with the tears in his eyes as he thrashes his head side to side, pain and pleasure, ecstasy and disappointment mixing into a confusing set of emotions that course rapidly through him. He pants and pants, still feeling the air pulling out of his lungs as Marton continues to thrust deep inside him.

The clench and buck of the young body under him drags Marton down and he yells out, coming with a great groan. He slowly stops, leaning over Gaspard. "Beautiful."

Gaspard is panting, eyes still shut tight; shivering now, sweat cooling on his skin even as Marton encloses him in warmth. He keeps his eyes closed and he doesn't speak. Can't. Mind and body numb to what had just transpired.

Pulling carefully out, Marton moves Gaspard, laying him down and then getting up and returning with a damp cloth. Carefully he begins to clean the young man.

Gaspard remains pliant enough that he lets Marton move him. He's still shaking, body cold and quivering as he lays on the bed, eyes averted, not looking at Marton, avoiding the man's eyes. Instead he watches his hands, large and strong and this time, gentle, as the cloth slides over his skin.

Getting Gaspard clean, Marton pulls the thick blanket up around him. "Would Dominus like for me to stay here tonight or go to the slave's tent to sleep?"

He blinks up at Marton, still not speaking, a little baffled at how Marton is treating him now, compared to how the man was not a few minutes earlier. Gaspard is so confused. He wants to tell Marton to leave. To get out but for some inexplicable reason he wants the man to stay, to come to bed, to hold him. He still looks up blankly at Marton, body curling up small under the blanket. "Stay." He says, voice breaking and looking away, embarrassed that he sounded so--so _needy_.

Turning, Marton poured some water into a cup. "Drink." He holds it to the young one's lips. "Slow."

And he does, lifting up he let Marton care for him, drinking until the cup is empty. "S-stay," Gaspard pats the space beside him, "here."

"I will," Marton says and sits the cup down. Climbing into the bed he pulls the covers up around them and then wraps his arms around Gaspard.

Sighing, Gaspard settles close, nestled against Marton's side. He chances a glance, looking up, meeting Marton's eyes, his face stoic, void of expression because Gaspard is still confused. He slowly lays his head on Marton's chest and he closes his eyes, letting the sound of the man's heart beat lull him off to sleep.

* * *

Months pass with Gaspard sinking into his usual routine and yes, with Marton serving him, dutifully, as he promised he would. And true to his word, once the blanket of night spreads across the sky, it was Gaspard who begged, made weak by the power that Marton has over him.

After that first night though, Gaspard had asked for Marton to take leave. He will not show the man just how affected he is by Marton's presence and with how much he wants, no, _needs_ Marton to be in the same room, the same bed. He's shown enough weakness already that any more and he shall completely lose his pride. No. It's not supposed to be this way and Gaspard, at this point, does not know what to do.

Entering Gaspard’s chambers, Marton bows. "Dominus, your meal," he says, eyes flicking to the servant fanning the young man.

Even though he's not looking, for some inexplicable reason, Gaspard always knows when Marton walks into a room. His presence, to him, is so palpable that he could feel the echo of Marton's touch on his skin just by him being near and admittedly, it was intoxicating. Something that he finds he always wants to feel. He shifts on the bed and blinks his eyes open, his gaze instantly on Marton, meeting the man's eyes and they both just stare at each other.

"Shall I feed you - Master?" Marton asks.

Gaspard's eyes briefly close, his breath hitching, and then he slowly nods his head. "Yes," _please_. He feels a shiver, his body and his cock already reacting to Marton and Gaspard gives in to it, welcomes it.

Moving to the edge of the bed, Marton sits the tray down and pulls off a bite of roast pig. He holds the warm, spicy meat out for Gaspard to take from his fingers.

Closing his fingers around Marton's wrist, Gaspard aids him to guide the food to his mouth. He parts his lips and darts his tongue, taking the morsel and then licking Marton's fingers clean. "Leave us," He smiles at Marton, but addresses the other man in the room. "No one comes in." Gaspard adds.

When the sound of the door closing reaches Marton's ears he climbs onto the bed and smiles down at Gaspard. "Hello beautiful one." Leaning over he gives the man a kiss.

His smile broadens when Marton slides in next to him and Gaspard automatically turns and rolls and tucks against him, his face tilting up and receiving the kiss. It had been this way each night almost with both of them getting more and more comfortable around each other that each movement, each touch, each word uttered seems to be second nature. And still he doesn't know what to make of it. Gaspard kisses back now, his arms wrapping around Marton's shoulders, their legs tangling as well.

"My Gaspard," Marton says, kissing the young man's face, lips, nose. He smiles. "Are you hungry?"

Gaspard cups Marton's cheeks in his hands, "Yours?" he asks softly.

"Mine," Marton agrees and kisses Gaspard. "And I am yours. Not just this body that you bought, but everything."

Gaspard sees the honestly in Marton's eyes, can hear it in his voice. "Everything..." He whispers back, realizing suddenly that this is what he has been fighting within himself. It's him being too afraid to be the only one who feels this way but this revelation? This changes it all. He smiles back and nods, thumbs caressing Marton's cheeks. "Mine. Everything. And everything mine is yours."

Marton smiles and pulls Gaspard closer. "My Master..."

"Mmm," Gaspard grins and nods, "yes, your master...who is hungry and waiting for you to feed him." He laughs.

"Ah," Marton smiles and sits up, pulling off a piece of the pork and holding it out. "There are sweet cakes and oysters also."

Gaspard licks the juices off of Marton's fingers, then chews and swallows. "I asked for the oysters for you." He smirks. "And eat. You'll need your strength."

Laughing, Marton picks one up and holds his head back, dropping the oyster into his open mouth and swallowing. "Very good. Someday, you have to go to the shore and I'll feed you oysters straight from the water."

He grows serious for a moment and stares into Marton's eyes. "Would you rather do that? Be near the shore than be here?" Gaspard truly wonders.

"I want to be anywhere you are. Here, the shore, the mountains, the desert. I don't care, as long as you're there."

And that makes Gaspard not only smile, but slowly, he shifts, straddling Marton, arms draping over his shoulders as he looks deep into his eyes. "I want you to stay--here--with me and--and not just in my bed."

Marton tilts his head. "What?"

"I want you to stay--with me..." Gaspard whispers quietly, looking into his eyes.

"I am with you," Marton says. "Always."

Gaspard remains stoic, void of expression, emotion, and he thinks deeply, only speaking after a long moment of silence. "I give you your freedom. From this point on--you are free." Gaspard means every word. "Will you still stay?"

"Yes." That one word spoken soft from Marton's lips tells everything. He may be free, but Gaspard still owns him, his heart, and his love. "Always."

It was only then that Gaspard drops the mask, showing Marton just how that makes him feel and his smile blooms bright. "Then stay ... always."  



End file.
